Wicked Nights (12 page)

and death had ridden on the success of his ops. He’d spent his life rescuing other people from the ocean.

Too bad he was the one who needed rescuing now.

Damn it.

He stood up, tugging his mask down and into place. The boat rocked gently, mockingly, as he took one

large step off the side of Piper’s boat and let go, exhaling sharply.
One second.
Water rushed over his head

as he went under.
Don’t think.
BUD/S training included drown-proofing. Arms and legs tied together, he’d

voluntarily dropped down into a thirteen-foot pool only to release his air and power back to the surface.

Over and over.
Two seconds.
If he could do that repeatedly, he could do this once.

Three seconds.

And yet the panic was there. Some part of him wasn’t convinced he wasn’t neck-deep in the Indian

Ocean, diving in churned-up, debris-filled water while he looked for Lars and came up empty-handed.

He’d failed that day.

Hell, he was still failing.

Four seconds.

He broke the surface, tearing the snorkel from his mouth and sucking in long gasps of air. The sunshine

and the ocean’s flat surface mocked him. No Blackhawk chopper hovered overhead, its rotors churning the

water’s surface into a blinding froth. No basket. No rope ladder up. Just him and a beginner’s dive he

couldn’t cope with.

He needed to dive. Once he got back into the saddle, everything would be fine. If he had even one good

dive under his belt, he’d be closer to fixing the mess he was in. He had to hold it together. Too bad his body

hadn’t gotten the memo.

He inhaled slowly, pulling salty air deep into his lungs. Boat oil. Neoprene rubber.
All good things.

Unfortunately, cataloging the scents and smells of the ocean didn’t distract his mind from where he was.

Worse, the earthy, pungent scent of loose strands of sea kelp floating on the surface reminded him he

wasn’t really alone in the water. Debris from a tsunami might not choke the slice of the Pacific surrounding

Discovery Island, but there was still plenty of stuff to bump into out here.

He dipped his face into the ocean, tipping his head back to drain the water out of his mask. When he

looked down through the mask, he spotted Piper and Carla moving gracefully down the anchor line toward

the bottom. Rose Wall was a beautiful dive. The site description included a kelp forest and schools of

yellowtails. The question was, did he join Piper or did he sit the dive out, bobbing around on the surface

like an old woman?

Before he could overthink it, he took another long breath, focusing only on the push of air through his

lungs and his rib cage expanding. He dived at a slant, the water pressure on his back driving him down

toward the bottom. Seven feet. Eight. Then a piece of seaweed brushed his leg. Or a shark. A goddamned

tree. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt the electric shock of the unexpected touch through the three-

millimeter wet suit.
Hell.
This time, the flashback rolled over him, impossible to ignore. He sucked in water

through his snorkel, no longer sure which end was up and which down.

* * *

she breathed out gently until her ears equalized and then started mentally mapping the corals and

underwater formations. Getting lost on her way back to the boat wasn’t part of her plans. Overhead, an

explosion of bubbles marked Cal’s entry into the water.

She paused, waiting to see if he’d be joining them. He hadn’t indicated any intentions of doing so, but

she didn’t want to leave him behind or swimming to catch up if he’d changed his mind. What she didn’t

see, though, was a tank or diving fins. He dipped below the surface briefly, diving in a smooth, clean arc.

At seven feet he slowed. At twelve...something happened. She wasn’t sure what, but Cal’s body jerked and

flailed. Grabbing her dive slate, she scrawled a note for Carla.

He okay?”

Carla pointed toward Cal in silent question, and Piper nodded. Both women watched Cal for a moment.

He clawed his way to the surface and then his big, powerful body cut through the water away from her boat

in a familiar combat stroke. In the water, Cal had always been all raw power, a sure, confident swimmer.

Piper had no difficulties imagining him doing the SEAL thing. His hands never rose above the surface, his

legs methodically propelling him through the water and away from the
Feelin’ Free.

Huh.

So, okay, no law said Cal had to dive. He could have brought a dive boat out here because he felt like a

swim or wanted to check out the currents firsthand or any number of a dozen things. Despite what she’d

said to him, she didn’t really believe he was trying to get the jump on her or intended to cut her out of the

contract competition. Cal didn’t operate that way. He was blunt. He didn’t mince words.

His straightforward attitude had also been what had driven her crazy in the past, because he’d never

held back with her. He’d called her irresponsible, impulsive, dangerous.... He’d slapped labels on her so fast

that she’d never considered being anything but what he’d called her. Headfirst, feetfirst, any way, as long as

she was all in.

She hung in the water as she watched Cal. Hundred-foot-tall columns of green kelp waved lazily toward

the surface, strands forming a soft backdrop for the schools of bright orange damselfish. The Rose Wall site

was like being in an underwater forest. Plants covered the rocky bottom, clearly visible in the bright light

filtering down from the surface. Her bubbles disappeared overhead.

“Ladies first?” Carla scrawled on the tablet and flashed her a grin. Her dive buddy had the worst

handwriting known to humankind. She should have been a doctor.

Piper picked up the pencil. “Why didn’t he bring his dive buddy?”

Cal’s boat sat low in the water, indicating the steel tanks lined up on his deck were full. Another twenty

yards into her swim and she spotted his anchor line. He was at the boat now, and she ran her eyes over what

she could see. Whatever had happened back there on the surface, he seemed fine now. She could make out

the sleek black outline of his wet suit and diving fins. She didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t wearing a

weight belt or harness, so he’d had no intention of diving?

“Free dive?” Carla scrawled back.

Piper shrugged. Maybe she should chalk it up to one of life’s little mysteries. Just because Cal usually

had a plan didn’t mean the man always did. Perhaps he was human, after all. Beside her, Carla started

taking pictures. Their plan was to pitch a “hike through an underwater forest,” followed by a swim with sea

lions, and these pictures would seal the deal.

And yet, as she worked to catalog the site and mentally mapped out the course she’d use with the Fiesta

divers next week, Piper kept one eye on Cal, her curiosity killing her. What was he up to? He was a highly

trained diver who specialized in extreme dives. This shallow site with its easy currents wasn’t his cup of tea,

but he should have been down here, swimming circles around her and Carla.

Nope. It was none of her business.

He dived again, a shallow, graceful arc ending fifteen feet beneath the surface. His body bucked and

jerked. Cal never panicked. A little water or a faulty snorkel tube? Those kinds of problems were merely a

blip on his SEAL radar. She’d heard the stories about Hell Week, a training week all U.S. Navy SEALs went

through. Stories included passing out at the bottom of the pool and near drowning.

And yet Cal was in trouble.

She tapped Carla on her shoulder and pointed up. When Carla nodded and flashed her the okay signal,

she started her ascent, slowly rotating upward in a circle toward the surface. When she reached fifteen feet,

she stopped for a safety check, hanging in the water. Overhead, Cal disappeared. He’d either grown wings

or gotten back on board. She counted down three minutes, then moved steadily to the surface. Racing to the

top would be a rookie mistake, and she’d already made too many of those around Cal.

As soon as she broke the surface, she motioned for Carla to get back on the
Feelin’ Free.
And then

hesitated. This had to be one of her stupidest ideas—and she’d had plenty of those. But, instead of getting

back on her own boat, she was going to go stick her nose in Cal’s business. Make sure he was really okay.

After passing her gear up to Carla, she swam over to Cal’s boat and hauled herself up onto the gunwale,

kicking hard. Cal was sprawled in the captain’s seat, looking like a pirate. His board shorts rode low on his

hips, exposing the tantalizing ridges and shadows of his abdomen. Despite the towel in his hand, water

droplets slicked his face and his chest. It really wasn’t fair how good he looked.

She swung her legs over the side and watched him.

He didn’t look like he was in trouble.

“I think I get to shoot unauthorized boarding parties.” He stood up in a smooth rush of power and

padded toward her, all lazy, masculine grace.

She made a show of looking around his boat, ignoring the gunwale digging into her butt and the
Feelin’

Free
’s motor sputtering to life behind her as Carla got her boat going. “Where’s your dive buddy, Brennan?”

He held the towel out to her. “I came out here alone. Apparently, I’m giving you a lift back to the

marina.”

A free towel was a free towel. She took it and scrubbed at her face. “Way to go breaking the rules. I

didn’t know you had it in you.”

He crouched, sliding his hand around her ankle and tugging off her fins. She felt the curl of his fingers

right through her dive bootie.

“What happened down there?” Because something had. She’d watched him jerk frantically toward the

surface, and yet she hadn’t seen any cause for alarm.

“Nothing happened.” His level gaze met hers as he pulled off the bootie and set it on the deck before

reaching for her other foot.

“I know what I saw. You got in the water, you dove and...”

“And what?” His tone dared her to complete the sentence. The problem was, she wasn’t sure
what
she’d

seen. Cal was a master diver and U.S. Navy SEAL. There shouldn’t have been too much he couldn’t

handle, and she’d never seen him panic.

Not once.

And yet what she’d witnessed was suspiciously close to panic.

“You couldn’t finish the dive,” she said. “You started down and then you surfaced.”

He shrugged impatiently, turning back to the boat’s control panel. A quick flick of his fingers, and the

motor started up.

“I wasn’t dressed for diving,” he pointed out.

He hadn’t geared up. True. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. That she’d

overlooked something obvious.

“Nothing went wrong,” he said firmly. “I decided against free diving. I had a malfunction.”

“Bad snorkel?” She gave him a question of her own.

“Something like that.” His dark eyes were unreadable.

She knew prevarication when she heard it. Playing for time, she unzipped her wet suit to her waist,

prying her arms out of the Neoprene rubber. She was absurdly glad she’d gone with her favorite bikini top

this morning.

“I should make you swim.” He sounded tired and that made her feel all melty inside.
No.
Fighting was

better.
She
was better at it.

“I’ll ride back with you to the marina,” she said.

9

THE RIDE BACK to the marina was uneventful. If Piper had been behind the wheel of the
Feelin’ Free,

Cal bet she’d have opened up the throttle and raced him every inch of the way. Instead, Carla kept the other

motorboat to a nice, steady pace, content to follow Cal’s lead.

Piper dropped down onto one of the bench seats where she had a direct line of sight on him. “You want

to talk about it?”

He didn’t have to ask what “it” was. Piper wasn’t blind. She’d clearly seen him struggling on his free

dives, and now she was asking the questions he didn’t want to answer. He tightened his grasp on the

steering wheel and let the speedometer creep up a little.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said, because admitting to the truth was impossible.

“Uh-huh.” Piper didn’t sound as if she believed him. “The dive didn’t work out so well for you.”

He shrugged. “We both know you’re going to insist on using Rose Wall in our demo. Your text

mentioned sea lions, as well. Maybe I’m tired of fighting you on every point, Piper.”

She gave him what he was coming to think of as The Look. “You think? We’re oil and water. I’m not

sure we’ve ever agreed on anything.”

“Yeah, but I blame you.”

She smiled and looked out over the water. Discovery Island’s harbor wasn’t precisely a bustling hotbed

of activity. A few motor launches headed in and out, ferrying visitors who’d plunked down a substantial

number of dollars for a charter fishing trip. Piper looked rumpled and relaxed, her hair whipped into salty